


A Dish Best Served Cold

by LazyBaker



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Come Eating, Lifeguard Billy, M/M, Revenge, Scoops Ahoy Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 01:02:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19415239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LazyBaker/pseuds/LazyBaker
Summary: Billy stops by Scoops Ahoy every day after his shift.Steve snaps.





	A Dish Best Served Cold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [trashcangimmick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashcangimmick/gifts).



“The usual, darlin’.” Billy Hargrove says and slaps a crumpled five dollar bill on the Scoops Ahoy counter Steve had just wiped down and will have to now wipe down _again_.

Steve stares at Abraham Lincoln with a mustache and devil horns that have been scribbled on—probably by Billy—and feels vaguely dirty. Like a hooker. A cheap one too.

Steve may make minimum wage, but he’s not _cheap_.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Steve says. Pretending Billy hasn’t been coming to Scoops every day for the last month ten minutes before the end of _every single one_ of Steve’s shifts.

Billy leans his weight on the counter, crossing the sanctuary of the three foot buffer between Steve and the customers to bat his eyes at him.

He stinks of sunscreen and chlorine. Radiates sunshine. The heat coming off of him is borderline _nice_. A goddamn obnoxious flame licking at Steve’s skin after a day of working in a freezer.

“Rocky motherfucking Road, Harrington.” Billy knocks on the counter three times. Each knock a stab to the back of Steve’s head. “Chop chop. I ain’t got all day.”

Steve doesn’t look. Rocky Road is their most popular flavor and he knows the tub out front is empty. That’s why Billy picked it. He _always_ picks the empty one. No matter what.

_The usual._

Steve’s going to kill him with an ice cream scoop.

“We’re out.” Steve tells him. Both hands on the counter. Cap square on his head. Dignity stuffed inside his locker along with his jeans.

He’s still got his backbone though and he’s not about to bend for _Billy_.

“That so?”

Billy’s smile is nails on a chalkboard, sends a _tingle_ up his spine and to the back of his neck and ratchets up the heat in Steve’s face. Makes him blush. Makes him want to shove Billy face first into the mint chocolate chip and hold him there till he stops kicking.

Every day with this. Somehow he knows Steve schedule and makes sure to never miss a shift. It’s Billy’s first stop after his own shift at the public pool. He’s still wearing his all-too-short shorts and tank top that’s been painted on to him with a pair of matching flip flops. Everything tight. Everywhere bronze. _Glistening_ under the shitty fluorescent lights.

Steve just doesn’t understand how Billy still has abs after eating three scoops a day while Steve’s building himself a beginner’s gut.

Billy keeps smiling. Steve’s practiced and now mastered dead-eyed stare shifts into a glare that only riles himself up while making Billy flash even more of his white teeth at him.

“There’s some more in the back. _A lot_ more.” Robin pipes up. She’s been wiping down the same five square inches of marble for the past half hour. National geographic magazine propped up in the stack of cups. Doesn’t look up from reading.

She’s used to the _Billy and Steve_ routine. Billy winking at her doesn’t even make her go red in the cheeks anymore. She has her magazines and her thick books she keeps under the counter—Billy and Steve are white noise.

The manager left a while ago.

Steve could punch Billy right now and _at worst_ he’d just get his ass kicked in public.

But he would still have punched Billy.

Which is, like, a pretty good upshot for Steve these days and outweighs any sort of humiliation. The shirt and cap have already turned _embarrassment_ into the _every day, every hour, every minute_ for Steve.

He glances over Billy’s shoulder at the Food Court. He’s the only customer in line.

Steve wills anyone, even a mother of five who wants Steve to babysit her kids—all under the age of five—while she grabs a manicure.

But no magical mom arrives and there’s only _Billy_.

It’s a slow hour. Steve used to like this time of day, one of the few parts of his job he _actually_ liked. Now it’s just the A/C and getting to eat all the ice cream he wants.

When his manager isn’t around.

And when Robin isn’t looking.

She’s kind of a stickler. Steve sort of hates her. Likes her too. Sometimes.

Billy whistles in his face and for once doesn’t use his _actual_ whistle. That he’s still wearing. Because he’s the worst person on the planet, no matter what Max may say about him _being better_ and _totally still a dick, but not, like, you know, a raging ding-dong-fuck-face dick_.

Max clearly has no idea what a sailor uniform and being _Steve Harrington_ brings out in Billy.

“Well, King Steve, you heard your captain.” Billy says with one of the most irritatingly big grins that wrinkle his nose in a way that makes Steve want to spit on him. Billy shoos him with his hand. “Set sail and get me some of that de- _licious_ Rocky Road, my matey.”

“I’m a sailor, not a pirate.” Steve says. Without thinking.

It’s what he does. Why he works at Scoops Ahoy. Why he agreed to be in their commercial for a nice stack of cash.

When someone yells _ahoy!_ at him a part of him dies.

“Oh, Harrington.” Billy shakes his head. “You can’t be happy with that one. I’ll let it go ‘cause I’m such a sucker for a man in uniform.”

“I want you to die. Like, right now. It’d be super great of you.”

“Sure you do.”

“I’m serious. It’d mean the whole world to me.”

Billy clicks his tongue at Steve. Pushes his five dollar bill across the counter. Taps it. “When I get my Rocky Road, I’ll do whatever you want, baby.”

“Promises, fuckin’ promises.” Steve says. Takes the money and shoves it into the cash register. Slams the change on the counter to add some oomph to his fresh, out of the box glare. “Everyday and you’re still coming in, walking all alive and shit. You ever heard of being a good listener, Hargrove?”

Billy shrugs. “Not my fault you get my blood pumpin’. Can’t stay dead long with you all trussed up like that. You headed to the docks later or—?”

Steve struggles not to just walk into the back and _hide_ and _yell_ into the insides of his cap. He’d done that a few times, back when he thought Billy would quit if Steve didn’t give him the satisfaction. All _that_ had gotten him was Robin on his back asking a thousand questions Steve didn’t want to answer or even know how to.

The problem here—besides Billy and Scoops Ahoy and Steve’s addiction to Caramel Swirl—is he’s not Robin. Apathy only got him so far and these days everything Billy does makes him _twitch_.

It’s the little jabs. The weird comments. The nicknames. Get called _princess_ enough times with Billy lifting up the leg of Steve’s shorts like it’s a skirt and Billy’s damn lucky it’s taken this long for him to snap.

Because that’s what he does.

 _He snaps_.

Steve shoves off from the counter. Grabs a waffle cone. Grunts _something_. Stomps his way to the backroom then to the freezer, scoop in hand.

Like hell is he dragging out a whole new tub for _Billy_.

In the walk-in freezer, the door snaps shut behind him. Steve pauses. Head hot. Face flushed. Hand clenched tightly at his side. The other holding the cone delicately and grudgingly. The cold, cold air leeches at the heat burning up inside him.

The next tub of Rocky Road is right there. Conveniently next to the door. The most popular flavor. It takes only a second to pry off the lid and get three scoops. Billy will be gone in the next two minutes if he does.

But Steve’s been cranked up to _hot_. Boiled over. Doesn’t get what Billy’s problem is. Knows exactly what his own problem is.

Steve doesn’t think.

He scoops out the ice cream. Tugs down the front of his shorts just under his balls—the cold on his bare junk makes him gasp and it’s that contrast, the goosebumps that race up his arms, the way all of his skin is tightens—he’s hard already.

Weeks of anger and confusion and frustration has him stripping his cock, fast and dry. Hurting just a little. He stops to dribble spit down onto the root of his dick and fist, smooths the way, chases after the ache inside him and lights it on fire with every stroke.

All that pissed off _fuck Billy. Fuck Billy Hargrove and his stupid face and his dumb mouth and his even dumber mustache_ pumps out of the fat head of his cock, leaking come onto the top of the ice cream. A steady stream of white over Rocky Road.

The only thoughts running through Steve’s mind are the image of Billy’s annoying smile. The awful way he says _hey there sailor_. The dimples in his cheeks. The cut of his arms that flex every time he moves. Dirty blond curls that bounce when he _struts_ up to the counter. Freckles that light up his ugly face. Teasing blue eyes. 

_His stupid, idiotic, fucking dumb laugh_.

Steve twists at the tip, his dick slicked wet. Squelching loud with every move of his hand. Knuckles knocking into the Rocky Road.

He’s just doing his job. He’s being paid to do this. Billy didn’t win _anything_. Steve is the one who won because he’s being paid and Billy’s wasting his money on an old high school grudge.

Billy is going to eat his jizz. Swallow it. Taste it. Steve will be inside him. It knocks Steve’s knees together, pulls his balls tight, makes his cock throb in his fist and pulse.

“Fucking fuck.” Steve says, gasping out, curling in on himself as weeks and _weeks_ of Billy riling him up shoots out of him in a thick load that drenches all three scoops and dribbles densely down the cone and onto his hand.

His dick twitches in the air. Steve wipes himself off on the underside of his apron. Wipes the sides of the cone. Neatens it up. Gets some sprinkles from the back canister and covers what he can of the spunk to make it look less like what it _obviously_ is.

Now that his head is back on his shoulder, Steve thinks that Rocky Road isn’t the ideal flavor to jizz on.

“It’s white chocolate. And sprinkles.” Steve says and hands the cone over. He’s out of breath. He tries not to be. “Today’s special.”

It’s a lot of lies to tell at once. Steve’s never done anything like this. His heart is hammering and the hair on the back of his neck is sticking to him. He’s got sweat making his shirt stick. The A/C is turned off for some reason.

He knows he’s being weird. Robin’s giving him more than a couple once-overs. Steve can already hear her telling him _but we don’t sell white chocolate sauce_ , but Billy’s all smug smiles at making Steve put in extra effort to serve him and he takes the cone without a question about _the special_ or what took Steve so long or why going into the freezer made him sweat—he licks it. A long, fat lick up the side of all three scoops.

Steve wants to snap a polaroid of this moment when he got one over on Billy.

He can see the spunk on his tongue, thickened from the freezer, gather up in a white gob. Watches as Billy takes it into his mouth. Rolls it around, spreads it all over inside then—

Then Billy’s eyes snap to Steve’s.

One eyebrow goes up.

Blue eyes flash in recognition.

That smug Billy Hargrove smile falters and slips off his face completely.

Steve freezes.

He’s definitely gone too far. Billy’s going to freak. He’ll fly over the counter and if he was pissed at the Byers’ he’s going to slam-dunk Steve’s head through ever floor of the mall with his fists this time.

This is what he gets for not thinking. A shitty dead-end job with no prospects for anything better and death by Billy.

Not exactly what his parents were hoping for. That’s nothing new, though.

But then Billy’s tongue is back out and, looking Steve straight in the eye, Billy licks his Rocky Road ice cream cone again. Slow. Swirls his tongue at the top. Mouths at it. Smacks his lips afterwards. He's got sprinkles and jizz in his mustache.

Steve twitches.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://granpappy-winchester.tumblr.com)


End file.
